


The Visitor

by egret



Series: Rehabilitated [3]
Category: The Yards (1999)
Genre: Angels, Domestic, Dreams, Ghosts, M/M, Regrets, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-12
Updated: 2012-08-12
Packaged: 2017-11-12 00:31:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/484634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/egret/pseuds/egret
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Willie sees a ghost. A kind of crack!fic interlude, with angelic celebrity intervention.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Visitor

Leo was snoring like a drunken pig, like he always did after his "late lab" on Thursdays. Willie lay beside him in the dark and wondered who exactly Leo thought he was fooling with that lab story, when it was obvious that Thursday was Leo's drinking night. He always got in drunk and useless and noisy and smelly. Leo rolled over, stole some more covers, and, in a spectacular outburst, actually snored and farted at the same time. Willie sat up disgustedly and pulled his bathrobe on. He wasn't going to get any sleep in here. 

He padded out to the kitchen and stared into the mostly empty refrigerator for awhile, but nothing delicious materialized. He settled for a beer. He wouldn't mind except for the stupid lying. Leo could go drink with his friends. Willie was living here now -- he had been for a month -- and he wasn't so insecure that Leo couldn't go for drinks or have other friends. He just didn't know why Leo lied to him about it and made up experiments and stuff. He wouldn't even bother with such bullshit if he was sober. Tonight Leo had claimed his science class had pulled the wings off bats to see if they could still fly. Or, "schtill fly," as he had been slurring a bit. Then he'd done a vampiric swoop and bitten Willie's neck. Willie rubbed his neck and smiled a little and lit a cigarette. He took his beer into the dining room. 

The dining room used to be the foyer, but it was a chunk of unused space and Willie had redone it with a table and his bureau as a sideboard. Now the front door opened right into the room, but that was OK. Over the sideboard he'd hung photos of his mother and Leo's mother and he'd put a big scented candle with three wicks. He lit it now and sipped his beer. Their mothers. He should probably take those down. Mrs. Handler would have been disgusted and hated him for perverting her boy. His own mother, whore that she was, would have demanded to know why he was giving it away for free. 

You're really bitter tonight, Gutierrez, he thought. He's not cheating on you at the bar, so just calm down. He looked at the Virgin of Guadalupe he'd hung between the two dead women and prayed for serenity and strength. Leo hated the religious picture on the wall, but Willie had convinced him it was cultural. He wondered idly what kind of name "Handler" was. German, probably. Maybe Leo could hang up a swastika. Willie took another sip of beer. Still bitter, obviously. That prayer thing didn't seem to be working.

There was a knock on the door.

Willie jumped. He looked through the archway to the kitchen and the microwave clock timer. It was three in the morning. The knock came again. Someone said, "Oh, come on," on the other side of the door. "It's freezing out here." The voice had an accent and Willie didn't recognize it. Maybe it was an Irish guy from Leo's bar. He got up and tiptoed silently to the door and looked through the peephole. 

There was someone outside. He had dark hair and a bushy moustache. He looked right at the peephole and smiled at Willie, revealing a serious overbite. "Open the door, dear. I'm not asking again." He didn't look dangerous.

Willie opened the door but kept the chain on. "Who are you?"

"Oh, how rude. Take the chains from your heart and your door, for fuck's sake, and let a fellow in, would you?"

Maybe he was a friend of Leo's. Willie frowned. He didn't think Leo had any friends like this, who talked that way. "What do you want?"

"No dear, it's what you want. What was it?" The stranger looked up for a minute and seemed to be listening. Then he nodded, stifling a yawn. "Right, OK, serenity and strength, was it? Didn't you put in a request?" He stared at Willie and then laughed lightly. "Well, for a praying man you're not much of a believer, are you?" Willie gaped. The stranger sighed and shifted his weight. He was wearing very tight leather pants and biker boots and not much else. "Listen, darling, I'll make your candle flicker, and if that doesn't convince you, I'm going to fly away -- I haven't got all night to wait around, you know. This is only a part-time gig." There was a whooshing sound and Willie turned to see the candle on the sideboard shooting six foot flames up to the ceiling, though nothing seemed to be burning. The candle went back to normal. The wall and pictures were unscorched. The stranger pushed his hand through the gap in the door and grabbed Willie's wrist. His fingers were icy. "Open the door." 

Willie broke into a cold sweat. "Your hand's in the way," he whispered.

The stranger took his hand back and said, "Open the door and invite me in."

Willie slammed the door and ran back to the bedroom. He grabbed his mother's rosary beads from his bureau drawer and hung them around his neck, muttering an ave maria. He went back to the dining room and peeked through the peephole again. The stranger was chewing on his thumbnail and looking irritated. Willie opened the door. No point in pissing off the spirits. "Well, at last," the stranger said. "Invite me in."

"Come in," Willie whispered. He sincerely hoped this was a dream. 

The visitor walked past him and strode right over to the pictures. He seemed very solid. "Ahh, mothers. They're very lovely. Which one's yours?" Willie pointed. "Gorgeous. You wouldn't have a drink in the place, would you?"

"Beer," Willie whispered. "And some hard stuff, I think."

"Is there vodka?"

Willie went to the kitchen and looked in the cabinet. There was half a bottle of no-label vodka. He poured some over ice for the visitor. When he turned around, the visitor was right behind him. He held the glass out, and the guest took it and drank with a satisfied sigh. "Vundebar. Now, dear, what's your problem. Tell Uncle Freddie all about it."

"You're not my uncle," Willie whispered. He couldn't believe Leo wasn't hearing any of this and coming out to see what all the loud talking was.

The guest rolled his eyes. "Work with me, dear!" He looked Willie up and down, evaluating. Willie felt self-conscious and clutched his robe more tightly around himself. The guest reached out and twirled Willie's rosary bead necklace between his fingers, picked up the cross and examined it, then let it fall heavily back against Willie's chest. Willie rubbed the cross against his robe, wanting to wipe it off. It was cold. The visitor smirked. "Do you really not know who I am?"

"No. Should I?"

The visitor sighed. "I suppose I'm meant to be humbled or something. But really. This rotgut's humbling enough. I'm Freddie Mercury. Er, um, well, I was. I feel I still am, frankly. Just a bit, well, translated, what do you call it." He sighed again. "I'm supposed to be singing, but they won't let me back in the choir till I've done my share of so-called outreach, the bastards. Some kind of union issue. I had no idea heaven was going to be so horribly democratic. I thought it would be all about divine royalty, you know? The creme de la creme, my dear. It's Heaven, after all, which was a damn fine club in its day. But now they let anyone in, y'know. Working class people. Cowboy singers. It's not always well managed." There was a rumble of thunder outside, and Mercury said, "I've got an opinion like everyone else, don't I? Anyway, what would you do? Kill me again?" Willie opened his mouth to answer, and then realized the question wasn't addressed to him, and shivered a little. Mercury held out his empty glass and waved it vaguely. Willie refilled it, and then Mercury, whoever he was, grabbed the bottle. The thunder rumbled again and Mercury sighed heavily and muttered, "I'm just doing it, aren't I?" He looked at Willie. "Let's just stop messing about. So. Your problem."

Willie realized he was being addressed again and backed slowly towards the kitchen table. "But who are you?" He felt very worried.

"Oh. My. God. Americans." Mercury walked past him and sat down, quite a feat in those pants. He rested his face in his hands for a moment. When he looked up, he seemed amused. "Well, I don't often say this, but never mind about me. This is all about you, Guillermo."

"How do you know my name?" Willie hadn't gotten around to putting it on the mailbox yet. He thought it would seem pushy. He'd mentioned it to Leo and Leo had promised to do it but he hadn't yet either. Willie pushed the thought away. 

Mercury smiled. "I told you. I'm the answer to your prayers. Let's just get you sorted, dear. What's your problem?"

"Nothing, really."

Mercury stared into his eyes for a long minute. Mercury's eyes looked almost purple, and as Willie watched they started to spin in their sockets like wheels. Willie closed his eyes. He was dreaming some pretty serious shit. A chair scraped, and Willie opened his eyes to see Mercury headed down the hallway towards the bedroom. Willie chased after him and grabbed his arm. "No! Don't go in there!"

Mercury paused. "Well, isn't this it? Some sort of bedroom problem?" He put his hand over Willie's and Willie felt the chill sinking all the way down to his bone. The hair stood up on the back of his neck and his balls tried to climb up inside of him. Mercury leered at him and squeezed his fingers. "I'm very good at bedroom problems." He turned back to the bedroom and pushed open the door, made some sign with his free hand, and stepped through. 

Willie yanked his hand back and leaped after him, lunging to get to the edge of the bed, between Leo and this creature. "Don't touch him!" he yelled. 

"Oooh, protective of our treasure, are we?" Mercury crooned. 

"Go away!" Willie thought he might cry. He would cry if he wasn't so scared. He wondered where his knife was, even as he knew it wouldn't really do any good against someone so icy cold, who wasn't really a someone. He reached behind him and shook Leo, hoping he was just dreaming, but Leo snored on, ignoring the commotion and the icy chill seeping over the room. 

Mercury made another elegant hand gesture and the bed coverings rustled away from Leo, scuttling down his body and leaving him bare, on his side, his legs curled, his skin pink and firm, and his snoring a warm animal sound. Mercury sighed appreciatively. "Lovely." 

Mercury leaned a little towards the bed and Willie snapped. He launched himself at the spooky intruder and landed flat against his chest, knocking him backwards to the floor. Mercury felt like a block of ice beneath him, and his laughter sounded like sleigh bells. Willie rolled to the side, intending to stand up and drag his visitor out of the apartment, but Mercury was on top of him before he could get up. He felt pinned and frozen, but he thought of what could happen to Leo if he passed out, and strained upward. He only got sideways. They rolled over and over as far as the doorway. To his horror, Willie felt an icy hardness rub against his thigh and thought he would die if this thing fucked him. From fear, if nothing else. Cold fingers tugged on his hair and then the thing kissed him. His lungs froze and he couldn't --

He couldn't see anything because it was dark. He couldn't feel anything anymore. Where the fuck was he? Where was Leo? 

"Leo's watching you," a voice said, from behind him.

Willie spun around to see the stationmaster he'd killed. There was a horrible gash running up his torso, and dried blood smeared all over the front of him. From his knife, Willie realized. He looked down and saw blood on his own hands. He held them up against his mouth anyway to stifle the scream. This couldn't be real. The stationmaster took a step towards him and Willie tried to back up. His feet were on something but he couldn't see a floor, or any walls, only blackness, and the stationmaster growing larger, getting closer. The dead man spoke again. "Leo was watching you. Otherwise you could have just agreed to carry a message. Like the message boy you are. But no, you hadda be a big man in front of Leo. I hadda die so you could show him how big you think you are."

"No. No, you had a gun."

Willie could smell the blood, hot and thick and sickening as it had smelled that night, spilling over his shoes with the glistening intestines. He thought he heard a lapping sound somewhere below him, something licking stuff up. He screamed, "Leo! Leo! Ayuda me!" He screamed so loud his voice broke, and as it cracked cold fingers curled around the back of his neck. 

"He's mine," the cool voice said. He resisted, squeezing his eyes shut, but thin cold fingers clutched his chin and cold hands pushed and pulled relentlessly, dragging his head around. "Look at me, fucker." 

He sighed miserably, opened his eyes, and pissed himself. Erica's icy blue eyes stared into his, furious. "I'm sorry," he moaned.

"You were always sorry," she said, contemptuously. "What are you whining about? And what's that awful smell?"

He didn't know. Piss, blood, death. "Erica."

"Don't talk to me!" she screamed. He thought windows must have broken all over the city, if they were even anywhere near any city or anything human any more. He longed to be back in bed with Leo being lied to about nothing very much. Erica glared and reached down. Willie felt something slither over his dick and he doubled over and threw up. 

He collapsed to his knees, sobbing. The Erica-thing bobbed beside him, stroking his hair. He shuddered helplessly and heard himself saying "oh god, oh god" over and over. Erica asked, "Did you kill me so I couldn't be with him?"

Willie felt like lightning was slashing through his brain, lightning like fishhooks digging into the grey meat, yanking him up. He figured this was where his head exploded, and felt glad. The lightning must have ignited something because he could smell smoke. He hoped he'd die before the fire reached him. He hoped it wasn't the fires of hell. Then he heard a long satisfying exhalation and recognized cigarette smoke. He opened his eyes. 

He was lying on his back in the hallway. Mercury was sitting crosslegged beside him and smoking. There was a red handprint on his shoulder where Willie had shoved him down. Mercury smiled. "How are we doing, dear?"

"Angels don't smoke," Willie whispered. His throat hurt, like there were a million tears stuck in it. 

"Spare me your fucking theology," Mercury said, with no real menace. He held out Willie's pack of cigarettes, offering it. Willie sat up and took one. Mercury snapped his fingers and the tip of Willie's cigarette glowed. Mercury giggled. "I love that."

Willie stared at the mark on his guest's shoulder. It wasn't bad enough he was a double murderer; he also had to punch an angel. He was fucking doomed. "Am I going to hell?"

Mercury followed his gaze to the red mark and smiled. "Surely not for that, dear. That felt rather good, being all manhandled," he cooed. 

Willie blinked. Angels don't flirt, either, he thought, but he didn't say it this time. He closed his eyes and prayed silently that nothing bad had happened to Leo while he'd been in hell. If that's where that had been. He stood up. His joints cracked and his knees trembled like he was a million years old. He said, "Excuse me," and limped down the hallway to the bedroom. Leo was there, still snoring, neatly under the covers. Willie walked over to the bed and tucked him in a little anyway, mostly to reassure himself. Leo looked beautiful, all greasy and whiskery and warm. 

Erica was right, sort of, if that had even been Erica. He hadn't liked her being with Leo, because she had been his, but also Leo was his. He was Leo's. It was that simple. It had always been that simple since that day in third grade when Leo had taken his side in that stupid schoolyard shoving match. He was Leo's person. And when he looked at it that way, it didn't matter if Leo was totally forthcoming about his schedule, or even if Leo was screwing all the New York Knicks every Thursday night -- Willie wasn't going anywhere. He belonged right where he was. 

Willie went back to the hallway. It was dark and empty. He walked cautiously to the bathroom door and flicked the light on. No one was in the hallway but there was something white on the floor. He walked halfway down the hallway and picked it up. A feather. Not a piece of downy fluff -- a real feather with a quill and wind resistant interlock, a flight feather longer than his hand, from a good sized bird. He frowned. Or not a bird. He walked out to the kitchen. It was dark but there was an empty glass next to his half-empty beer bottle, and the vodka bottle was on the table. Willie could smell flowers suddenly -- roses, he thought -- and he turned his head and followed the scent to the dining room. The front door was open, and the scent led out into the hall, but no one was there. 

He shut the door and locked it, doublechecking the two turnlocks, the deadbolt, and the chain. He put the feather on the sideboard and looked at his mother's picture again. Was it giving it away if it was love? He walked back to the bathroom and pissed for a long time. He could have sworn he'd had an accident back there, pissed himself, maybe puked, but his robe was dry and clean. He brushed his teeth anyway. When he looked in the mirror, he almost swallowed the toothpaste. There were white finger marks on his chin where she'd touched him. He hastily spat the toothpaste out and scrubbed his face with cold water. He looked again. The white marks were still there, shadowy fingers that had made him look. He squinted and looked closer and then backed away, his hands over his mouth. They weren't marks. They were whiskers. His beard had gone white where she'd touched him. 

Then he did throw up, barely making it to the toilet. When he'd finished, he checked frantically for more marks. He seemed alright. His pubic hair was still dark, even though she'd freaked him out with that slithery thing. Why would her hand have slithered? His stomach lurched again and he blanked his mind. He got a shaving mirror and checked the back of his head. Silver glinted along the nape of his neck, with a few finger length streaks further up. She'd marked him. 

He raised the hand mirror over his head, meaning to hurl it into the wall, and then took a deep breath and slowly, deliberately, put the mirror back on the shelf. A few gray hairs. He could color them. Or leave them and pretend he was distinguished. She was gone. He was alive. He could live with the gray hair. 

He went back into the bedroom and curled himself around Leo. He pulled the covers up over them and pressed his forehead between Leo's shoulderblades. He closed his eyes and concentrated on breathing with Leo-- in and out, in and out, even and calm. All those years, he'd been scared to admit how he felt about Leo. He'd put it all down to best friends, and affection. And even if he had been able to think of it, he'd had no indication that Leo wanted anything more than that. He couldn't even think about it to himself until prison. If prison hadn't been so bad, he might never have hooked up with Leo, he realized. It was like God had a plan. He held his rosary beads tightly. God couldn't have planned for him to kill people. Though lots of people got killed every day, so whoever was in charge had a lot to answer for. Willie let go of his rosary beads and hugged Leo instead. He'd leave that one to the priests.

Even though he was awake and waiting for it, he jumped when the buzzer blared at 4:45. Leo's beautiful warm hand snaked out and fumbled at the alarm clock, and Willie sighed in relief. Leo grumbled and turned in his arms, and suddenly his warm blue eyes were gazing blearily into Willie's. 

Willie kissed him very seriously. He claimed him. Mine. He could taste bad stale booze and cigarette ashes and hot morning breath, and he wanted all of it as his own, sucking it all down into himself, warming himself on it. He only broke off when Leo made a croaking sound in his throat, possibly the most beautiful sound ever. He stared into Leo's eyes and said, "You are mine."

"OK," Leo whispered.

"Stop lying to me about shit," Willie commanded.

"OK," Leo acknowledged.

"OK," Willie confirmed. He stretched and closed his eyes. He thought he might be able to sleep now. "I'll see you tonight?"

"Yeah, I'll be here."

"Have a good day." Willie rolled over. He didn't have to get up for another three hours.

The bed shifted as Leo got out of it, and then a hand slapped his butt firmly over the covers. "You too." Willie hid his smile in the pillow and let himself be lulled by the familiar noises of Leo taking a shower, singing along with his awful classic rock radio station. It was that one about loving your best friend. Leo missed the high notes on "I really love the things that you do." Willie smiled at Leo's bad singing. Leo was the answer to his prayers. He didn't need any of that other shit.


End file.
